Mindfields
by sakurazukamori
Summary: Reno: a washed-up Turk wasting his life away while unseen forces play out in the background. Our anti-hero meets a blast from his past in this lewd, crude and downright rude Reno P.O.V fic. RR (R - for language) [ON HOLD but ch.4 up]
1. Cigarettes and Alcohol

_Hey there. This was, and still is, my first FFVII fic, and it's undergone a bit of a revamp I might add. Not an extremely noticeable one, but just to tidy up spelling and punctuation. Hope you enjoy the fic.

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**.:Chapter 1 – Cigarettes and Alcohol:.**

The golden liquid sitting in the bottom of his glass reflected the garish blue light that shined, seemingly, on him alone. The wailing tones of the supposed 'professional' Blues singer made him want to put her out of her misery. He sighed and looked at the cheap tumbler sitting in front of him. The glass acted as a mirror to him, in its depths he could see himself – the dregs left behind. The red head tried to stare beyond the glass' superficiality, yearning for a deeper meaning but instead he was greeted with his golden, rippling reflection. _Why am I here? _The golden reflection reminded him of two years ago when he was respected. A Turk. A leader. He yearned for what he once was; he was fed up of being cast down to live amongst the dregs of society. The Turk downed the remainder of his drink, slamming the tumbler down on the battered bar top numerous times.

"Give me another," he bawled with a prominent slur whilst waving his tumbler, side to side, in the air.

He was drunk and he was bored. Two years had gone by since the threat of Meteor cast a grave shadow on the life of the Planet. Two years since Sephiroth had tried to seek out the Promise Land, killing everyone who got in his way. _Tseng…_ Too many lives had been lost… ShinRa Inc. once a powerful, domineering force had degenerated and disintegrated; all that remained were a few die-hard elitist bigwigs. No Shinra meant no Turks. He was alone once again and the bastards at Shinra hadn't even given him a decent payoff. All he had were the clothes on his back, his .45 pistol and trusted EMR. _Thanks for the fuckin' generosity. _He had become restless, fidgeting and resorting to scratching obscenities into the bar top. _Fuck this._

"Barman! I said give me another fuckin' drink!" he exclaimed in raised tones.

People in the nearby tanned booths turned and shot him a look of disgust and contempt. The red head could do nothing but smile to himself. He craved the attention of others almost as much as he craved his sodding whiskey. _The service in shittin' Junon. _Reno graciously pushed his black rimmed, black lensed shades further up his nose until they were sitting on top of his forehead. Impatiently, he ran a pallid, thin hand through his long yet ruffled crimson hair, tucking a few of the stray strands behind his ear. For as long as he could remember he had spent every night, almost, for the past two years drinking at this dingy shithole and what for? _For nothing. _Reno found himself subconsciously removing a smoke from the packet which he had divulged from his now redundant blue suit. He idly placed the smoke in his mouth. Nervously, the barman made his way to the fiery young man.

"Want a light?" he asked him calmly whilst measuring a double shot of whiskey into a fresh tumbler - whiskey on the rocks, his usual poison.

Reno gave the barman a gesturative head movement portraying the sentiment of "Yes. I would like a sodding light." The light illuminated the man's gleaming turquoise eyes, bringing out the Mako tinge that was embedded in them. He inhaled deeply allowing the smoke quick passage to his lungs. Seductively, he blew the smoke into the air.

Reno swilled his drink around the tumbler and watched how the liquid seeped down the transparent walls. Hours passed yet he felt like he had sat there for an eternity. _As good as... _A cute blonde in a revealing black dress and stilettos shimmied past him. His eyes trained on the distinctive way she walked, the way her hips moved, the way her ass wiggled, the way her hair was caught on the breeze as she disappeared into the night. _Damn, I need to get laid... _The primeval male instinct inside him took advantage of his inebriated state and got him lusting after any female with a pulse. Appalled by the lack of response he was getting, he downed his drink, stuffed his smokes in his top pocket and staggered towards the 'Little Boys Room.' _What the..?

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_

"Shit!"

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His eyes adjusted and he found himself on the ashed and gum-smeared floor surrounded by a few of the local Junon tramps. _Get up you sorry son of a bitch... _Reno clambered to his feet, dusting off the ash and other grime from his old, worn suit. The haggard, fake and down right sleazy hags were standing between him and much needed relief.

"Hey dolls," he drawled sarcastically, placing his arms round their shoulders, "You mind getting outta my way?"

"It'll cost ya…" a peroxide blonde whispered in a syrupy voice.

The mere sight of this broad was enough to make his stomach turn. He barged past her and collapsed onto the floor of a stall. _You waste of space. Sitting on the floor of some urine encrusted... _Reno came to and wretched over the bowl of the toilet as the smell of stale urine crept up his nose. He used the grimy, yellow walls to help himself up. Sauntering over to the mirror, he looked at himself. Two faces stared back at him mimicking his every move. The man closed his eyes and then opened them again trying to fully focus on himself. He didn't look as bad as he thought he did, albeit his suit was becoming worn due to constant wear, but he was considered to be the 'rogue' Turk of his time– never tucking in his shirt, never doing the overtly smart thing. After reminiscing about his previous habits, Reno's gaze shifted to the other end of the long stained mirror... _Cloud! _He stared with disbelief and malice at the so-called 'Saviour of the Planet.' Cloud was wearing his trademark 'I'm a moody psycho' look. The red head's eyes narrowed and shifted back to the mirror in front of him. Cloud moodily stared at him – burning holes into the back of his head. Reno smirked at Cloud's stony, stoic glare. _Just a fuckin' picture man... That's all._

"Hey blondie," he whispered warningly, "Quit wishing me dead."

He laughed and squared up to the picture, drunkenly staggering around. He remembered the battles the Turks and AVALANCHE had fought. Fierce. Unforgiving. Cloud was strong; he'd give him that, but only that. Along with the two main scars under each of his eyes, he had further distinguishable scar down the side of his neck – given to him by Cloud. He winced as he examined it. It wasn't painful but the memories it invoked were.

Reno continued to grimace at the picture that was encased in one of those cheap plastic clip frames. The type you find in somewhere like Costa del Sol. The caption "Victory through Struggle" emblazoned underneath. Cloud was leaning against his bloodied sword smouldering into the camera. He looked dishevelled, battle-weary…like he'd just been to Hell and back. _Sephiroth…the One Winged Angel. _Reno glanced either side of Cloud – he was not alone, instead he was flanked by two others. _Vincent Valentine. _Now there was a guy who commanded respect. He used to be leader of the Turks, decades ago. _I gotta hand it to ya Valentine_. An inexplicable sense of unity came over him. Both of them ex-Turks. Both of them having the blood of many still of their hands… Reno cast his mind back to previous jobs that had amounted in substantial bloodshed.

"Sector 7…" sighed Reno nostalgically. "How…sad?"

She had been there too. _Yeah, the brunette chick… _Tifa. _Damn she was hot. _Reno smiled to himself as he passively gave her a thought. He noticed something in the picture and walked closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with Cloud. He noticed the loving, compassionate gaze that was directed from Tifa's wine-drenched eyes to Cloud's cold glare. Cloud gazed obliviously into the camera. _Bastard. _As much as he hated AVALANCHE, it still didn't stop him feeling pity for this brunette…hell any girl, whose affections were obviously wasted on a mental case like Cloud.

"Bang," he whispered, as he mimicked a revolver with his hands.

Reno blew the smoke away from the mimicked revolver, and then resolved to take a leak. Paying the barman on the way out, he staggered on to the streets of Junon. For once, he was mentally aware enough to equip and arm his EMR and take the safety catch off his .45. Junon was a rough place and sense of foreboding enveloped him – a feeling of danger swept over him. _Psychos all over the place_... Ever since Shinra and the Turks had disbanded, he was at risk from being accosted by AVALANCHE disciples as they liked to be called. It was nothing he couldn't handle but still, he kept a firm grip on his EMR. He didn't know when he would have to use it or whom he would have to use it against. However, Reno blended easily into the shadows with his dark blue suit, only his eyes betrayed his invisibility amongst the darkness with their ethereal glow. Turning down a side ally, he leaned up against a graffiti-smeared wall and placed a cigarette in his mouth. Recently, he had begun to feel weakened as if some strange omnipresent force was following him, quelling his reflexes, slowing him down. He laughed.

"Its nothing," he lied, conversing with the air around him.

Reno exhaled the smoke and watched how it slithered up into the air like an indistinct serpent, eventually blending into the polluted Junon atmosphere – becoming nothing but another toxic fume.

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_Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm hoping it still has the same 'Reno' appeal as it did first time around she hopes. Anyway, keep reading... this fic has a tendency to change perspective. Feel free to drop me a mail or give me a review._


	2. Easy Rider, Raging Bull

_Ok this is my first time at writing in first person but I thought I'd give it a go. Sorry for the excessive swearing but I have rated it 'R'. Oh, and I guess it's easier to get Reno's personality and state of mind across if you try and imagine being Reno yourself. That was quite an experience let me tell you... _Characters copyrighted to Squaresoft inc.

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**.:Chapter 2 – Easy Rider, Raging Bull:.**

I can't remember how I got back; all I can remember is seeing the door to my apartment forced wide open. It took a while to sink in. I was still in a state of "mental enlightenment"… well, in other words, I was drunk. My eyes refused to focus, in fact, everything in front of me seemed to just fuse together; the walls merged into the doorframe whilst the graffiti swirled into an endless spiral of colour. I was sober enough to have charged my EMR and take the safety off my .45, but whether I was sober enough to actually use them was another matter entirely. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as this overwhelming surge of adrenaline just pulsed through all my veins as I edged towards the open doorway. On previous Turk missions, this adrenaline buzz just majorly psyched me up, now, it was more of a burden than anything; I was drunk for Holy's sake, the addition of this chemical to the multitude of others already swimming around my body did **not **help at all.

I pressed my back up against the cold, graffiti-daubed wall of my rundown apartment, listening as my breath became inaudible, even to me. It was a neat party trick – there were countless times people thought I was actually dead, works a treat with the ladies. You know that whole 'mouth to mouth' thing – well, you get the picture right? I looked at the end of my EMR as it shot out blue and white sparks of intense heat; I could feel their heat on my knuckles. It left me imagining what my targets felt when I shocked them with this baby. A grin flashed across my face, although this really wasn't the right time to be smiling, I mean, some damn son-of-a-bitch had broke into my fuckin' apartment and so help me Gods he was gonna pay.

I guess it's at these extremely _touching _moments of exacting revenge that you wonder whether my _conscience _comes into play. Let me tell you something. My conscience? You know that sneaking annoyance that sends you, time and time again, on those fucked up morality trips? Well, my conscience got left behind when I found out I had to kill to survive. The situations in which it was either kill or be killed, hunt or be hunted. Along with that whole conscience shit, I lost all the capability I had of feeling emotion. But, hey, big deal. Emotions slow you down; they make you weak. Killing people was something I did, something I do… something I enjoy doing. I mean, I'm not a bad person – jeez, how many people can you name that honestly have a conscience? I'm talking about a real, fully working conscience. You know, I can't actually think of anyone. I count not having a conscience as a blessing – unlike you, I don't have to go through that 'yes/no' morality bullshit which, believe me, saves a lot of time. Let's just say, I got over that whole conscience thing a long time ago.

It was pay back time.

My drunkenness began to subside as I forced my eyes to focus on the doorframe. All I could think of was what I was going to do to the bastard who broke my damn door hinges. I thought I could probably just pump the unsuspecting vandal with a couple of thousand volts dealt out by my EMR, but that'd be too easy. Then I thought, well, I could torture the fucker, but that _really_ wasn'tmy style – hey, I'm a smooth talker not a damn interrogator. Then, I considered, you know, maybe shooting him in the kneecaps, watching him writhe around in agony but then, jeez all that blood yadda yadda yadda, its gonna be messy and, to be honest, I really didn't want to have to pay for a new carpet as well as a new door. It was probably best just to go with the flow…for now anyway.

I snuck into the door way and press up against the inside wall. Turk tactics – you gotta love 'em. It was quiet… probably meant that the bastard had done a runner, but, _never assume the obvious_ – Turk Lesson number 14. A distinct smell of cigarette smoke hung about the room, definitely **not** the smell of my brand. This smoke came from a much more expensive 'exclusive' brand, definitely unlike my own – probably something like 'Mild Seven.' I surprise myself sometimes, but being a self-proclaimed cigarette connoisseur I guess it just comes naturally.

Unholstering my .45, I stood doubly armed, feeling much more in control and definitely much less assuming as I saw the remains of a smouldering cigarette butt polluting _my_ ashtray. A professional never leaves evidence behind – this person was very, very unprofessional.

"Cheeky sod..." I whispered under my breath, as the hazy smoke coiled around my novelty Costa del Sol ashtray. It had sentimental value – yes, even a conscienceless guy like me gets sentimental once in a blue moon. It was a gift from Tseng… yeah, Tseng.

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I was fuckin' fuming, probably due to the vast amount of alcohol I had consumed, but fuming nonetheless. That was it – I wasn't a goddamn Turk anymore. I was reminded of that every time I walked into this shitty apartment. I didn't have to conform. Hell, I didn't conform when I was a Turk anyway – that was Elena's job. She was such a conformist brown-noser and total lapdog to the ShinRa but damn, do I miss that girl. She was, well, she was spunky in a weird sorta way and… I was constantly letting my mind slip from the impending job in hand. Gotta stop doing that...

Anyway, I decided that, you know, if I stormed in guns blazing I'd catch the intruder off guard, right? So, that's what I did; I stormed into the middle of my rather untidy 'living' room, tripping over pizza boxes, beer cans etc – you name it, I tripped over it. Well, I was still drunk and you know, that whole adrenaline thing, it really gets ya. I know, excuses, excuses, but if the bastard were still in my apartment then he damn well knew I was back. I'd show him, I'd put the fear in him. Wise guy, thinking he could mess me around….

What was that noise? Like bones clicking – knuckle bones. It was coming from my goddamn bedroom. Son of a bitch! I ran into my bedroom guns blazing, all gung-ho. I really looked the part, might I add.

And that's when it hit me, quite literally.

I felt a row of knuckles connect with my cheekbone as a flash of pain burst across my face. Everything went black, then white, then black and then a few reality sequences were thrown in for good measure. I was floored, well and truly floored by some unknown assailant, but little did I know all was to be revealed.

"Reno, you asshole!" screamed an obviously feminine voice, "You could have fuckin' killed me!"

Great, just great. I had just been floored by a chick. If it were a hot chick then I wouldn't mind ya know? I mean she obviously wanted me on the floor for a reason, but if it was a broad? Sheesh, it just don't bear thinking about.

Gods I keep doing this don't I? Keep on track Reno, for Holy's sake.

ANYWAY, I'd just been punched really fucking hard. My face throbbed, I'm talking proper throbbed, all I could see were these pink chicobos flying in front of my eyes… quite beautiful actually.

"Ow, what the fuck…who are you? What the fuck was that for? " I shouted, enraged that my face would be tainted with a nasty purple bruise.

"I thought I'd put you outta action before you zapped me," the female coolly replied. Her voice… it was becoming more familiar each time.

"Listen lady, I don't take kindly to being punched in the FUCKING FACE!" I bawled as I tried to stumble to my feet, before unsuccessfully falling back to the floor.

"Oh, sorry, my bad. I'll try the stomach next time," replied the female sarcastically.

"Har-fucking-har, we're quite the comedian," I replied as dryly as I could. "Look, are you going to tell me who you are?"

There was a rather prolonged pause, a seriously prolonged pause…

"If I reveal to you who I am, you wont believe anything that I am about to tell you," began the chick in this really serious voice.

We're not just any bog-standard serious tone; I mean we're talking 'the end is fucking nigh' type serious. It must be something about serious voiced chicks, but they really get me going. I think it's the whole sense of urgency… or something.

I stumbled to my feet with the aid of this serious chick. She was wearing combat gloves. Luckily, she punched me with her right fist; the left fighting glove had a huge pronged claw attached to it. Man, I would have been scarred… not just scarred, more like fuckin' mutilated. I mean I'm already scarred but I deal, chicks dig it and guys fear it… makes me look tough so it's all good, but if I was covered in puncture marks? Yuck, it'd just look, well, you know, it'd look like I'd had a nasty encounter with a pitchfork. Not macho, not macho at all. But, anyway, what chick goes around wearing combat gloves, _pronged_ combat gloves at that, and breaks into people's goddamn houses? I mean, I associate with some pretty random people, but well, I sure don't think I'd associate with that. And there's the other thing, she knew my name. Yeah I could put it down to the fact that I was a damn Turk, but she knew me… like knew me, knew me. It just didn't add up.

"Look, I'm not in the mood for this cryptic shit. I'm pissed; my face feels like, Gods how can I describe it? Like it's been punched! And, my door is hanging off its hinges. Now tell me who the fuck you are and quit arsing around." I declared in a rather stern forceful tone.

The chick went silent and I could hear her nervously grinding her teeth, debating whether she should come clean or not. The sound of grinding teeth does nothing for me at all, it just makes me cringe like nails do when they are scraped slowly down a chalkboard. I had to listen to this grinding for five minutes, five minutes of pure torture. Until…

"Fine," she sighed as if she had to make some life-changing decision, "Turn on the light then."

It took awhile to register than in order for the lights to come on I had to find the actual light switch. Believe me, it was a difficult task for a drunken guy who'd just been punched in the face. Fumbling my way in the dark I found the switch, and flicked it up…

Welcome to Instant Illumination, and what a delight it was.

"No fucking way!" I exclaimed as I stood face to face with _her_, the chick that had broke into my apartment and punched me in the face, "No fucking way…"

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_I think I might do a third person/first person alternation throughout the rest of my chapters. Sorry for the excess use of the f-word and sorry if Reno sounds a little OOC and sorry if I haven't gone into loads of detail about his past – that's for the next chapter. Ok, well seeing as you have read this, please review? _


	3. Pretty Vacant

_Hope you've liked the chapters so far. I can't believe how excessively I use '...' – too much! Anyway, I've gone through my chapters in a vain attempt to cut it out. Hope it doesn't impair the flow of the story, but only you guys can be the judge of that. _Characters copyrighted to Squaresoft inc.

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**.:Chapter 3 – Pretty Vacant:.**

"**_There's no point in asking, you'll get no reply…" Sex Pistols_**

So, uh, yeah, where was I? Ah yes, now I remember, I had just received a rather forceful blow to the side of my face by some chick wearing a goddamned _pronged _combat glove who had previously trashed my apartment and broken down my goddamn door. Riiiight, and, if I'm not mistaken I turned on the lights and, oh yeah…

"How in Odin's name did you find out where I lived?" I exclaimed, whilst nursing the side of my face with a cold flannel.

"I hacked into Shinra's confidential staff database. Security is lax on confidential files now that the corp went bust. They have all your past and present addresses," she coolly replied, tightening the glove strap on her hand, "So, wasting away in Junon now that you're no longer Shinra's lapdog… Red?"

"What's it to you?" I scowled, "Since when did you care about the well-being of a Turk, Tifa?"

Her eyes glanced down, dulling as they looked at her fingers pulling at the combat glove strap. I must've hit a nerve with her. The infamous Tifa Lockheart, one of the famous Saviours of the Planet paying **me** a 'friendly' visit? An ex-Turk, an enemy? It just didn't add up. I was the guy that dropped the Sector 7 plate, killing her tree-hugging hippie friends, injuring all those slummers, what the fuck was she here for? It was so not right...

I reckoned that if she wasn't here for casual sex, it was probably something really serious, or she just had a hankering to laugh her ass off at my subsequent misfortune. Hey, it happens, even to the suavest of guys such as myself…

"Look Tifa, are you going to tell me what you're doing here?" I probed impatiently.

Sighing, she reached into her skirt pocket removing a computer disc, carefully placing it down on the table in front of me.

"You came here to give me a soddin' computer disc? What do you want me to do with it? Shove it up my ass?" I sighed.

This was just so pointless. If I weren't so concussed, wasted, drunk, insert word here, then this situation would have been a helluva lot easier. At the least, I could have held her at gunpoint and gotten some fuckin' answers, but at the moment it was like getting blood outta a stone. This situation made no sense, she'd come here alone? No backup? No bubble-butt hero of the planet to cover her ass? This just didn't add up…

"Screw you, Reno," she shouted angrily whilst walking towards me, "Screw you…"

"Is that an offer, babe?" I drawled cheekily. Hey, I had to test the water! I mean she could actually be here for casual sex (if nothing else), "I didn't realise you felt tha- OUCH!"

Before I could finish my torrent of innuendo-soaked comebacks, a stinging slap had been planted across the side of my face. Another burst of light appeared before my eyes, leaving me blinded and a little more vulnerable than I would usually have liked. Next thing I knew I had been pushed on to my back, falling on my clothes-strewn bed, feeling my wrists being tightly bound to my iron bedposts. I couldn't help but smirk, it was just _too_ tempting…

"My, my, my Tifa Lockheart. Who would have thought that such a charming Nibelheim girl would be into such..." I broke off deliberately, "…_filth_."

I could see her eyes flaring with anger as she purposely yanked each bond around my wrists so they were uncomfortably tight.

"Oooo, someone likes it rough," I smirked. "Just the type of girl I like."

"Will you just quit it!" shouted the brunette. "Enough!"

So far she had slapped me across the face, I could deal with that, but her knee was worryingly close to a rather _sensitive_ area of my anatomy. One day, I want kids, ya know, and in order to do that, I'd need to be able to 'function', if you catch my drift. Obviously, I decided to keep my mouth shut, for a little while anyway.

After subjecting me to an _obviously _sexually charged bondage session, she climbed off of my bed and retreated to a darkened corner of my disorderly room, sitting in an old swivel chair. I stared at her, watching the way she tucked her hair behind her ears, straightening that **extra-tiny** mini skirt that barely covered her… modesty, for want of a better word. Grinning, that _baaad _side of me just had to follow up now I was in somewhat of a rather compromising situation.

"So Ms Lockheart, aren't you going to have your wicked,_ wicked _way with me now that I'm all helpless and conveniently tied up?" I purred, "You know, I _really _dig chicks that dominate."

Silence…

…she said nothing at all, just rolled her eyes. Jeez, what the fuck was her problem? I mean, I'm an attractive guy; I'm a damn ex-Turk for fuck's sake. I've got scars, I've got a lot going for me, oh and I own a gun. Sure, I mean I like to drink, I'm not an innocent 'nice guy' and I don't pretend to be cuz, well, nice guys finish last, right? I'll admit I killed a few of her friends, but her and 'Spike' managed to take out a shit load of ShinRa troops, so what was her problem? We were even, but it was like she was too **good **to screw me.

I know! What's up with that?

Oh, and don't give me that, _she doesn't fancy you _bullshit, or _she loves Cloud_ shite because I know it ain't true - it's just a soddin' cover up. She just has serious morality issues. I mean because, like, I dropped that soddin' plate, by her fucking me it'd be like betraying all those dead guys. Gods, she _so _needs to get over that – a guy like me ain't gonna wait forever.

Okay, rant over... let's get back on track.

"Are you done yet?" she sighed.

End Silence.

"Well, seen as you aren't going to take advantage of me at this very moment, I'll try my luck later," I beamed. "Next time I won't go so easy on you, ya hear?"

What was that I just saw! A smile? From the stone fox herself! Awww, she totally digs me. Didn't I tell you?

Finally, those screwed up morality issues were put aside; I've still got the touch - damn right. Guess now that she wasn't so, _obviously_ premenstrual, we could have a civilised non-violent conversation and I could finally find out what the fuck she was doing here.

"So, you brought me a disc, how very kind," I sighed. "First of all, I wanna know why a girl like you is visiting a guy like me… apart from the complimentary fucking, of course."

She rolled her eyes again. Gods, what the shit is with that? Chicks always do it, haven't you guys noticed?

Here's a great example: You tell them something you and the boys were shittin' yourselves over in the bar and what do they go and do? You guessed it; they sit and roll their fuckin' eyes as if they're so goddamn superior.

Another example: You know, when you ask them for head? Quick roll of the eyes and then they start chomping away at it. I mean for Odin's sake…

"I wouldn't have come here unless I had to," she replied coolly whilst lighting a 'Mild Seven' cigarette.

Didn't I tell you? Booyah, I knew it was 'Mild Seven,' but when did she start smoking?

"Gee, that really answers my fuckin' question," I scoffed angrily.

"Rude's dead, Reno," she replied quietly. "It was a viral assassination, he's dead."

What the fuck?

"Get the fuck outta here!" I shouted. "Rude's not dead. That's not funny alright? He's not dead! You know what? You're so fuckin' full of SHIT!"

It was shit, it must be. Complete total shit. Rude would no way stand for that shit. A viral assassination? Yeah, ha-ha, good one, Tifa. I mean, come on, Rude never got sick and he wouldn't be fuckin' stupid enough to get stabbed with a syringe - he was an ex-Turk for Holy's sake. She was lying to me, she had to be, I mean, that's just sick; its sick and it's messed up.

"You're a fuckin' liar," I spat. "What in fuck's name do you want!"

"Believe it or not, I want to help you," she sighed, "but you have to believe me when I tell you he's dead."

What was her deal? She comes in, breaks down my door, beats me up, ties me to my bed, and then tells me that my, as good as, best friend is dead! This just wasn't happening – it sooo wasn't happening, but then, let's take a step back… why would she lie about that? What would she gain? Oh Gods, what was going on?

"How? How do you know?" I replied. "Since when has cavorting with Turks been a past time, Tifa!"

"He found us," she responded. "He sought us out."

"Us!" I snarled. "You and 'Spike'? Oh, I'm sure you both welcomed him with fuckin' open arms!"

"Do you know what its like to have someone die in your arms, Reno!" she shouted. "Do you! I know, alright, because Rude died in mine!"

Oh yeah, that's right Tifa, lay it on real thick. Do I know what its like? I was a Turk, an assassin, I killed people for _them_; I dealt with 'problems,' of course I knew what it was like… of course, right?

I'd killed, I'd killed hundreds. Shot them, shocked them, torched them etc, but I…I always left the scene, always - evidence had to be removed, you know? I'd killed, but… I'd never had someone die in my arms, except on that day… no.

"No, Tifa, I fuckin' haven't!" I hollered. "Is that what you wanna hear? I bet knowing that makes you feel real big, doesn't it? Knowing you're so compassionate! I bet you really get off on that, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure, I get off on people dying in my arms. That's right you bastard!" she screamed. "It makes me feel real big, you fuckin' jerk off."

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_Ok, I said I'd alternate between first and third person and this chapter was supposed to be written in third but…nevermind ;; Again, realllly sorry for excessive swearing, but I always thought of Reno as a bit of a lad teehee. I have actually tried to cut out a substantial amount, hope it semi worked. So, um, now you've read my fic – review review runs off screaming_


	4. True Faith

_I'm really sorry for not updating this fic for ages. Writer's block held me hostage for about a year. I've had this chapter in pieces for ages, but something called 'divine inspiration' allowed me to finish it today. I've gone through my other chappies semi-revamping them. Hope you enjoy this chapter. _Characters copyrighted to Squaresoft inc.

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**.:Chapter 4 – True Faith:.**

"_**I feel so extraordinary; something's got a hold on me…" New Order**_

I guess you could say I had a hard time accepting the 'truth' that Rude was dead. I mean… fuck, I don't know what I mean, all I could think of was how I first met the guy. I hate reminiscing, but what the hell, this could be like his, uh, eulogy. I mean it wasn't like he was going to get much of a send off anyway. Guess the question was where to start…

Ah, perfect…

* * *

He felt the hidden curves of her streamline body hidden beneath a robe of darkness. Her 'fuck me doll' eyes burned with a hungering passion as she ran her red nails across his taut abdomen, concealed under a loose fitting shirt. His blue eyes glanced around the dingy hotel room noting each crack in the wall, each tear in the dog-eared wallpaper whilst she teasingly unbuttoned his shirt. He looked at her…it was the first time he'd properly looked at one of his conquests, to him they were just an outlet for his frustration – less effort then having to jerk off, cheaper than a whore; however, there was something different about her. He glanced down at her left hand, the dull gold band encircling her ring finger – it'd be the first time he'd _had_ a married woman. You wouldn't have thought she was married…she was just too damn attractive to fall for that marriage shit; tousled chestnut hair that streamed down her back, red lips that drew up into a bee-stung pout, startling blue eyes that thirsted for something more than just a 'loving' husband. His hands continued to work their way up her body to the curvature of her rounded bosom that lay concealed beneath the caress of satin.

"Not that I care about formalities but you never told me your name," breathed the redhead, as his hand gently traced the outline of her breast.

"Likewise," she purred, whilst trailing a line of kisses across his chest. "But, you need no introduction… _Reno."_

He smiled; reputation got you everywhere, especially in somewhere like Junon. Now it was time he took real advantage of this reputation…

His hands gently parted her black robe to reveal the body that lay beneath. She wore nothing except a pair of black suspenders that graced her long, toned legs - he had to admit, that was one thing that drove him wild. With that he pulled her close, his lips pressed against hers as they hungrily devoured each other. She let out slight moans of passion as his right hand began to teasingly work its way down from her rising chest to her hips; she felt his other hand forcing her against the edge of the double bed.

The brunette's hands found themselves desperately pulling at the buttons on the redhead's slacks. Never had she felt herself so overcome with such raw passion, each time he touched her, a new wave of lust immersed her. She felt him pressing against her, pushing her down on to the bed below. His hands took over from hers as he finished unbuttoning his trousers. Her eyes pleaded with him in anticipation as her legs gently drew apart, inviting him…

…it was an offer he couldn't refuse…

His eyes once again met hers, he could see them begging, begging with him to ravish her over and over again; it would have been bloody rude of him not to...

* * *

"I want him fucking dead!" raged a rather large, balding fifty-something gang lord. "No one fucks my wife except me!"

Perspiration ran down the doughy features of the exceedingly pissed off leader of the Sonatine Faction. His chest was heaving with wheezing, ragged breaths causing his face to take on a rather unflattering purplish tinge. Dorian Sonatine had been the 'boss' of the Sonatine Faction for the past fifteen years, within those fifteen years the Junon underworld was his, ruled by the iron fist of the underground. Every week there was a new assassination attempt on his life, and every week each one was foiled. Dorian Sonatine was not a man to be messed with... especially when it involved his wife, Sofia. She was paying dearly for her adultery, her pretty face covered in dark purple bruises and fresh cuts. It hurt too much for her to cry out in pain, and she knew all to well that her husband was not one to reward tears with kindness.

"Get out of my sight!" yelled Sonatine, backslapping her hard across the face one last time. "Worthless whore!"

Sonatine watched his wife stagger towards the door, her arms wrapped around her stomach. He could hear her stilettos clicking on the floor, occasionally stumbling out of rhythm.

"I want her followed," mumbled Sonatine to one of his bodyguards. "Watch her every move."

With a silent nod, the gold-toothed bodyguard slunk out of the room, hot on the heels of Sofia Sonatine, who had run to her room in order to pack up her shit and get out of town.

"You!" A chubby finger shot out, pointing at another one of his intimidating bodyguards.

The man in question stepped forward; a bald, dark skinned man, who took to wearing sunglasses even inside the darkest of offices.

"Boss?" he replied, in a deep rasping voice.

"Bring me that redheaded punk," commanded Sonatine with a snarl, "...alive..."

"Alive?"

"Yes, alive," wheezed Dorian Sonatine, a gummy grin spreading across his face. "He's no use to me dead...well, not yet."

* * *

"Can I have a little service here?" drawled a rather scruffy looking redhead.

His strong jaw line was framed by two days worth of auburn stubble, sharply contrasting with the deathly pale complexion on which it was set against. His glazed blue eyes were set in circles of purplish black indicating a serious lack of sleep. Being on the run was a tiring business...

"Look mate, we're closed so clear off will ya?" replied the barman abrasively. "You too, pal"

The dark suited man sitting a stool down from Reno knocked back his drink and walked for the door. The draft sent a shiver through the redhead causing him to reach for his overcoat that lay next to him on an adjacent stool. Pulling the heavy wool coat about him, his eyes caught those of the stern barkeep.

"Alright already, I'm going!" exclaimed Reno exasperatedly, rolling his eyes for added effect. "Jeez..."

Slamming his currency on the bar, the redhead lit a cigarette and headed for the door. The bittersweet scent of the tobacco mingled with the night air as he exhaled, the smoke swirling into nothingness. Reno stared up at the sky, looking for a glimmer of moonlight, but was greeted with the oppressive smog that seemed to hang about Junon, night and day. One day he'd get out of this dump, make something of himself instead of being just another street thug. Absentmindedly, he took another drag of his cigarette, inhaling deeply.

"Smoking'll kill you," whispered a voice from the shadows. "Although, that small indulgence isn't the biggest threat to your life at the moment, is it?"

"Who's there?" replied a slightly taken back Reno. He usually knew when people were following him, but this guy had completely caught him off guard.

"I can't tell you my name, but I think you can guess who I represent," answered a softly spoken man.

From the shadows emerged a tall, dark haired man dressed in a dark navy blue suit; the same guy who was sat at the bar with Reno. The darkness obscured his face, but from what he could make out there was something Wutain about his looks, the dark hair, the sallow skin... it all reminded him of some girl he 'knew'.

"You're the guy from the bar," responded the red head. "You following me or something?"

"In a manner of speaking," smiled the dark suited man, "The buzz from the bees tells me that you've rather _upset_ a certain someone. Sleeping with his wife, wasn't it?"

"You're good...Turk," smirked Reno.

The dark suited man merely smiled and continued.

"Dorian Sonatine has been a thorn in our side for quite some time," replied the Turk smoothly. "It would appear we have that detail in common."

"So what? That don't answer my question... are you following me?" Reno shot back.

"I merely have a proposition I would like you to consider," responded the dark haired man, calmly. "A proposition you might find hard to refuse."

The Turk reached into his inside jacket pocket, removing a pair of black leather gloves which he deftly began to slide on to each hand. Reno caught a glimpse of a pair of holstered guns by the sides of the occupied Turk – a pair of perfect .44 Peacemakers. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the streetlamps highlighted the sleek ebony handles, flawless... not a single fingerprint in sight.

"Hard to refuse, eh?" replied Reno, his tone dripping with forced confidence.

The Turk merely smiled as he pulled on the last of his black gloves, flexing his fingers into the soft leather.

"Hard to refuse," agreed the Turk, a sly smile flashing across his shadowed face.

"So, why me?" questioned Reno, carefully. He had to be careful; no one messed with a Turk and got away with it...

"Let's just say, you've caught our eye," replied the Turk, that sly smile still ever present, "And people who catch our eyes do not easily dismiss our propositions."

"Are you threatening me?" countered the redhead, feeling his temper rising even though he knew it would probably cost him his life. One false move and he knew he'd be dead meat

Reno's piercing blue eyes met the beetle black ones of the Turk who stood in front of him. He could feel his body shaking beneath his heavy overcoat; whether through cold or fear he didn't know, but he had a feeling it was probably the latter.

"What if I am?" replied the Turk as calmly as ever, "Would you be able to do anything about it?"

Reno was lost for words... he knew that by asking the Turk questions such as 'Are you threatening me' would only lead to a further barrage of rhetorical answers, it was against their practice to tell more than what was necessary.

"Hmm, I didn't think so," smirked the Turk. "Now, about this proposition..."

* * *

Interrogating the bartender had been easy enough; apparently this Reno character had vacated the bar moments ago, he had to be near by. Pushing his dark glasses further up his nose, the bodyguard aptly named Rude scanned the surrounding slum area. Removing the .45 Magnum from the inside of his jacket pocket, he moved quietly into position, keeping low, making sure he didn't draw any attention to himself. He thought he caught the sound of soft voices on the night air, but he couldn't sure. This would be the third night Rude had gone without sleep; the Boss had ordered a continuous search, not caring about the effect that three sleepless nights would have on his prized bodyguard.

"Don't move," whispered a voice, the coldness of a gun muzzle pressed against his left temple. "Drop your weapon."

One didn't argue with someone who had just placed a gun against one's head, so complying with the assailant's demands, Rude dropped his .45 Magnum to the floor, hearing it clattering loudly as it made contact with the dirty ground.

"Who are you?" began Rude, his voice calm and collected.

"I'll ask the questions," replied the serene voice.

"Don't expect any answers," spat Rude, coming to the opinion that this guy was all talk.

"Not meaning to sound cliché," began the suited assailant, "but I have ways of making you talk."

"Heard it all before," drawled Rude, tempted to pull his emergency revolver from his other jacket pocket.

It was then that he felt the gun drop from his temple. Rude felt his body subconsciously relax as the threat of being shot in the head subsided. Through his dark sunglasses, he could make out the gloved, navy suited attire of his attacker. It hit him like a proverbial shot that the man who had held him at gunpoint was, in fact, a Turk.

"I've been waiting for you," smiled the Turk, "We both have."

"We?" questioned Rude monosyllabically. "You thought it'd take more than one Turk ta bring me down?"

Ignoring Rude's comment, the Turk gestured to a hidden associated lurking in the shadows; as he saw the second man step forward, Rude instantaneously reached into his jacket pocket, but the Turk was too quick. Rude felt his arm wrenched behind his back and a flick-knife grazing his throat.

"Too hasty," tutted the Turk. "Far too hasty."

Rude watched as his quarry came forward, the punk's red hair blowing in the cool air. An almost triumphant smile blazed across his face as he watched another one of Sonatine's assassination plots foiled.

"Tell your boss," leered Reno, "that he can't kill me that easy,"

Rude said nothing; he refused to give this street-punk any regard, and he was also fully aware as to how close the knife was to his carotid artery.

"Why are you following this man?" questioned the Turk, ignoring the street banter between the two.

The bodyguard's silence ensured that his arm was further wrenched up his back, the ensuing result – a muffled grunt of pain followed by a series of expletives. Loyalty was priority to Rude, but he had a feeling this confrontation was about to get nasty and he was right.

"You refuse to talk?" questioned the Turk. "Very well, it seems I'll have to resort to more _extreme _measures."

Within the blink of an eye, the flick-knife was gone and replaced with a syringe filled with a yellow-tinged aqueous solution. Reno didn't like to think what was contained within that syringe; he'd heard rumours about ShinRa's science department, along with its more than slightly insane inhabitants...

"This is a 25ml shot of Sodium Pentothal," began the Turk, relishing the tenseness that shot through his victim, "commonly known as 'truth serum'. Just one shot is all it takes before you start divulging your most sordid secrets to me."

"You think dat shit frightens me?" countered Rude, attempting to mask his fear with a veil of confidence.

"I don't think," sighed the Turk, "I know. The results will speak for themselves."

"Your sick," spat Rude, unable to comprehend the calmness in the Turk's voice.

The Turk merely chuckled, he'd been called worse.

"Now," started the Turk, "will you talk freely, or will it have to be by force? Count yourself lucky, I don't give many a choice."

"I'd tell him man," mocked Reno, glad that he wasn't in a similar position, "Could be poison in that syringe that he ain't telling you about."

"Sonatine," muttered Rude, not wanting to experience the effects of this 'truth serum' that, as the punk said, was more likely to be poison then anything else.

"Good," replied the Turk, the syringe still millimetres away from Rude's neck, "Reno?"

"Yeah?" replied the red-head, eyeing the syringe nervously, hoping he wasn't about to be subjected to the same treatment.

"I want you to unholster your gun and shoot this man," demanded the Turk calmly and self-assuredly. "He is of little use to me anymore."

"You shittin' me!" choked Rude, vainly attempting to struggle against the Turk's surprisingly strong grip.

"What is this shit?" hollered Reno, his eyes flickering between the Turk and his captive.

Reno gulped as he watched the Turk replace the syringe with one of his Peacemakers, knocking off the safety before pointing the gun at Reno's head.

"Shoot him, he dies. Don't shoot him, you die," warned the Turk, his eyes dancing with fire. "Clear?"

"Crystal," replied Reno, vainly attempting to detach himself from the situation.

"Yo man," called Rude, watching Reno hesitantly remove his Magnum revolver. "You gonna listen to dat shit?"

"You'd have killed me if this guy hadn't stopped you," replied Reno, pulling the trigger back on his gun.

"Kill ya?" scoffed Rude. "Why'd I waste my bullets on your white ass?"

"If you didn't kill me, Sonatine would," drawled Reno, nervously aiming the gun at Rude's bald head. "Either way, I'd be dead."

Something pulled harshly at Reno's stomach, a feeling of insecurity. Why was he pointing a gun at some guy's head? _Because he would have led you to your death, dumbass... _This guy was in the same position as Reno though, both street-scum, both trying to get by... the only thing that was different was that they were on opposite sides. _That's enough isn't it?_ _Kill him already!_ No... _What? That Turk'll kill ya if you don't! _Reno didn't take orders from anyone; it was a matter of principle. He didn't need no jumped-up, suit-wearing murderer ordering him around, telling him who and when to kill. Besides, Reno had a feeling that he was too valuable... he hoped that feeling was more than just wishful thinking. _Fuck that..._

Aiming his gun, he let off a shot that pierced the silence, its noise reverberating endlessly around the graffiti stained walls.

* * *

_  
FINALLY! After a whole year, I've managed to complete this chapter. Looks like you'll have to wait another year for the next chapter, or at least a few months. I've got evil Uni exams and I vowed to finish my Harry Potter fic too. Keep checkin' though, and as always, feel free to give me a review._


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